Shaping the Future Through Education My name is Kelsey, and I graduated from Bradford High School in Starke, Florida. This fall, I will attend Georgia Southern University to pursue a degree in Education. From a young age, I have been drawn to the idea of helping others learn, grow, and reach their full potential. Over time, I realized that my calling is not only to teach, but to serve in under-resourced communities where passionate, patient educators are needed most. I don’t want to just teach—I want to advocate for my students and help create classrooms where every child feels safe, valued, and excited to learn. Throughout high school, I sought opportunities to develop leadership, empathy, and adaptability. These experiences taught me that teaching is more than delivering lessons—it’s about building relationships, understanding unique needs, and helping students believe in themselves. I’ve seen firsthand how a supportive mentor can change a young person’s perspective on their abilities and their future, and I want to be that influence in my students’ lives. My passion for working in under-resourced communities comes from understanding the challenges many students face outside of school—challenges that can make learning feel like an uphill battle. I believe every child deserves a teacher who will not only educate them academically but also stand in their corner as an advocate. I want to create a classroom where students know they are seen and heard, where their cultural backgrounds are respected, and where they feel empowered to dream beyond their circumstances. I also see education as a pathway to breaking cycles of poverty and inequality. By giving students the tools, skills, and confidence they need to succeed, I can help open doors to opportunities they might not have imagined. My teaching will emphasize both academic content and life skills—critical thinking, problem-solving, resilience, and collaboration—so that my students are prepared for challenges both inside and outside the classroom. Beyond teaching, I plan to work closely with families and community organizations to strengthen the support systems around my students. I envision running after-school programs, offering tutoring for those who need extra help, and creating partnerships with local groups to provide resources that support learning and well-being. In this way, my impact can extend beyond the walls of my classroom. I am also committed to integrating technology and creative learning methods into my lessons, making education more engaging and accessible for all types of learners. Whether a student learns best through visual aids, hands-on projects, or interactive digital tools, I want to ensure that every individual has a fair chance to succeed. My mission as an educator is simple but powerful: to inspire my students to believe in themselves and to equip them with the tools they need to shape their own futures. By working in communities where strong advocates are needed most, I hope to help every child I teach see that their dreams are valid and achievable. Education is my chosen career not only because I love to teach, but because I believe it is one of the most meaningful ways to create lasting, positive change in the world.

The Soundtrack of Vulnerability: My Top Three Billie Eilish Songs Billie Eilish isn’t just an artist I admire—she’s someone whose music has wrapped itself around some of my most vulnerable moments and made me feel understood when words failed me. Her voice, style, and storytelling are hauntingly beautiful, and they’ve helped me process emotions I didn’t know how to name. Choosing just three songs is difficult, but these have stayed with me the most. 1. “everything i wanted” This song speaks to the quiet struggles so many of us face internally. When I first heard it, I felt like someone had finally put the weight of depression and the pressure to succeed into words. Billie captures the feeling of being seen but not truly understood, of achieving your goals yet still feeling empty. The line, “I had a dream / I got everything I wanted / Not what you’d think” hit me like a wave. As a student trying to manage expectations, burnout, and fear of failure, this song became a late-night anthem of release and reflection. It reminds me to check in on my mental health and not tie my worth to achievement. 2. “idontwannabeyouanymore” This is the ultimate mirror song. It’s raw, vulnerable, and achingly honest. Billie peels back the layers of self-doubt and body image issues in a way that made me feel less alone in my insecurities. Growing up in a society that constantly pushes perfection—especially for girls—this song gave me space to acknowledge the pain of not feeling good enough, without judgment. It’s one I return to when I need to remember that emotions are valid, even when they’re messy. 3. “Happier Than Ever” This track is the definition of emotional evolution. The way it shifts from soft vulnerability to pure cathartic rage perfectly mirrors what it’s like to finally find your voice after being mistreated. It gave me permission to be angry, to speak up, and to not apologize for outgrowing people who made me feel small. Billie’s performance here is a reminder that empowerment often starts in the quiet but ends with a roar. Billie Eilish’s music has helped me feel seen, healed, and more courageous. Her willingness to be emotionally raw has shown me that strength doesn’t mean having it all together—it means being honest, even when it’s scary.

Defying Expectations: Why I’m a Fan of Wicked From the moment I first heard “Defying Gravity,” I knew Wicked was something more than just a Broadway musical — it was a story that spoke to parts of me I hadn’t yet found the words to express. I’m a fan of Wicked because it tells a powerful story of identity, friendship, and the courage to stand alone in a world that often demands conformity. At the heart of Wicked is Elphaba, the misunderstood girl who is judged for being different — not for her actions, but for the way she looks and the way she challenges authority. I related to that. Like many young people, especially those navigating identity, cultural expectations, or mental health struggles, I’ve experienced the pressure to shrink myself, to fit into boxes I didn’t choose. Elphaba’s refusal to do that, even when it costs her everything, inspires me. But what makes Wicked even more meaningful is the complexity of its relationships — particularly the unlikely friendship between Elphaba and Glinda. They’re opposites in so many ways, yet they grow to respect and care for each other deeply. That reminds me that real friendship isn’t always about similarity — it’s about growth, learning, and seeing the world through someone else’s eyes. It’s one of the most beautiful parts of the show and one of the things that’s stuck with me the most in my own life. I’m also drawn to Wicked because it turns a well-known story on its head. The “Wicked Witch” isn’t evil — she’s misunderstood, scapegoated, and brave. It’s a reminder that stories aren’t always told from the right perspective, and that we have to look deeper to understand people’s truths. As a Filipina-American, that resonates deeply. Our stories are not always centered in mainstream narratives, and Wicked reminds me to claim space for my voice. The music, of course, is unforgettable. Songs like “No Good Deed” and “For Good” are not just beautiful — they’re emotionally raw and honest. They capture what it means to make hard choices, to lose people, and to grow stronger because of it. I still get chills every time I hear “Defying Gravity” because it reminds me that I, too, can rise above expectations. Being a fan of Wicked means believing that it’s okay to be different, to question, to fight for what’s right — and to do so with heart. That message has shaped how I see myself and how I want to make an impact in the world.

"I can't think of a third line / And I hate all my clothes" – Finding Myself in the Mess In Olivia Rodrigo’s song “ballad of a homeschooled girl” from GUTS, one lyric cuts straight to the heart of what it feels like to be a teenager trying to figure it all out: “I can't think of a third line / And I hate all my clothes.” It may seem simple at first, but this lyric speaks volumes about the awkwardness, pressure, and insecurity that so often define adolescence — and it resonates deeply with my own teenage experience. The line reflects how, during these years, even the smallest moments can feel like catastrophes. When Olivia says she "can’t think of a third line," it echoes the frustration of trying to express yourself — whether it’s in a conversation, an essay, or even in your identity — and feeling like you’re falling short. As a teen, there are so many times when I’ve sat in silence, knowing what I want to say but not knowing how to say it without sounding weird, cringey, or wrong. That fear of judgment, of saying too much or not enough, is overwhelming when you’re still learning to trust your voice. And then there’s the second part — “I hate all my clothes.” On the surface, it’s about outfits, but underneath, it’s about not feeling comfortable in your own skin. That constant questioning — Do I look okay? Am I enough? Who even am I? — hits hard, especially during moments of transition. Like Olivia, I’ve stood in front of a mirror wondering why nothing feels right, not just in fashion, but in life. Am I the version of myself people expect me to be? Or am I still figuring that out? These feelings are magnified by the performative nature of being a teenager in the digital age. There’s a constant pressure to appear confident, polished, and “put together,” even when you feel like you’re falling apart. Olivia Rodrigo's rawness and self-deprecating honesty in GUTS is a reminder that it's okay not to have it all figured out. It’s okay to be awkward. It’s okay to feel like a mess. It’s part of growing up. This lyric encapsulates the emotional chaos of adolescence — that confusing mix of self-doubt, identity-seeking, and the desire to belong. It gives a voice to the feelings many teens try to hide. And for me, hearing someone like Olivia say it out loud makes me feel less alone. In the end, teenage years aren’t just about heartbreak and rebellion — they’re about discovering who you are, and being brave enough to show up as that person, even when you don’t have the “third line” figured out yet. And somehow, that’s kind of beautiful.

Giving Back with Purpose: My Past, Present, and Future Impact My name is Kelsey, and giving back has always been part of who I am. I believe that true fulfillment comes not from what we receive, but from what we’re able to give. As a proud Filipino-American and aspiring educator, I’ve seen how powerful community can be — especially when someone steps up to help others feel seen, heard, and supported. That’s the kind of person I strive to be. Right now, I give back through volunteering at my church, supporting children and families in need, and mentoring younger students at school. Whether I’m helping organize community events, tutoring children in reading, or simply listening to someone who needs encouragement, I’ve learned that small acts of service often make the biggest difference. These experiences have deepened my passion for education, especially in underrepresented and underserved communities. I plan to continue giving back by becoming a special education and early childhood teacher. My dream is to work in low-income areas, where many students are overlooked or misunderstood due to limited resources or learning differences. I’ve seen this firsthand — not only through my volunteer work, but also through the experience of my younger brother, who needed extra accommodations in both school and life after not speaking until he was four years old. Supporting him taught me how important it is for children to have teachers who advocate for their needs and nurture their strengths. In the future, I want to create classrooms that feel like safe havens — places where students are not only educated, but also empowered. I hope to lead initiatives that promote mental health, cultural inclusion, and trauma-informed practices in schools. I also want to build programs that help families engage in their children's learning journeys, especially those from immigrant or marginalized backgrounds. My goal is to break cycles of inequity and create a ripple effect of kindness, opportunity, and change. The support of this scholarship would allow me to pursue my degree in education with fewer financial obstacles, enabling me to focus on developing the skills and experiences I need to make this vision a reality. With your help, I can invest more time in internships, community service, and educational development — all of which will shape me into the kind of teacher who truly gives back, not just in the classroom, but in the lives of every student I serve. Giving back is not just something I do — it’s something I live. And I am ready to carry that forward into a future filled with purpose, compassion, and impact.

Teaching with Heart: My Purpose and Path Forward My name is Kelsey, and I am passionate about becoming an early childhood and special education teacher. Growing up as a Filipino-American, I’ve always believed in the value of community, family, and service. My upbringing taught me the importance of lifting others up, especially those whose voices often go unheard. These values have shaped not only who I am but also the way I envision my future. My inspiration for entering the field of education is deeply personal. My younger brother didn’t speak until he was four years old. Watching him navigate school and life with the need for constant support opened my eyes to the struggles many children face when they are misunderstood or left behind in the system. I learned how critical it is for students — especially those with learning or developmental differences — to have teachers who are patient, compassionate, and dedicated to meeting them where they are. Through my career, I want to make a lasting impact by creating inclusive classrooms where every child feels safe, supported, and seen. I plan to work in low-income communities where resources are limited and students are often underserved. I want to be the kind of teacher who not only teaches lessons from a textbook, but also empowers children to believe in themselves, despite the challenges they may face at home or in life. My goal is to help every child realize they are capable of growth and greatness, no matter their background or abilities. I also want to work toward changing the stigma around mental health in schools, especially for immigrant families like mine where these conversations are often avoided. I believe schools can be a hub for healing and support — not just academic performance. Through trauma-informed teaching and emotional wellness programs, I hope to help students build both knowledge and resilience. The support of this scholarship would directly impact my ability to pursue these goals. It would help ease the financial burden of higher education, allowing me to focus more on gaining the skills and credentials needed to be the kind of teacher who creates real change. With your support, I can continue on this path of service and advocacy, and help build a better, more inclusive future for the next generation. I want to be a teacher not just in title, but in purpose. To teach is to plant seeds of confidence, curiosity, and compassion — and I am ready to spend my life helping those seeds grow.

What I’d Want AI to Know About Being Filipino-American If an AI system were trained to understand and represent the Filipino-American experience, I’d want it to know that being Filipino-American is more than a blend of two cultures — it’s a balancing act of pride, resilience, sacrifice, and love. I’d want it to know about the sound of karaoke filling the house during family gatherings, the comfort of pancit and lumpia on a hard day, and the way elders call you “anak” with a tenderness that lingers. But more importantly, I’d want it to know the complexity beneath the surface — the silent strength our families carry, and the pressure we often feel to succeed for them. My story, like many others, is rooted in my family’s sacrifices. I was raised in a home where hard work wasn’t just encouraged — it was expected. My parents taught me to value education, humility, and community. I learned early on that mental health wasn’t something we often talked about, but something we all silently struggled with. That silence taught me the importance of using my voice to break cycles, advocate for emotional wellness, and pursue a career in education where every child feels seen. As a Filipino-American student, I carry both pride and responsibility. I honor my roots by uplifting others who may feel caught between identities. I use my story to inspire future generations to be bold, speak up, and dream big — even when they’re told to stay small. No algorithm could ever fully understand what it means to hold generations of dreams on your shoulders, or what it feels like to laugh through pain because that’s what you’ve seen your elders do. It couldn’t feel the ache of being misunderstood by both cultures, or the joy of finding belonging in moments of shared language, food, or tradition. Those emotions — raw, layered, and human — are what make our experience so powerful. ** AI was used to help organize and refine my thoughts in this essay. I provided the personal experiences and cultural details, and the tool supported me in shaping them clearly and cohesively.

Finding Strength in the Struggle: How Mental Health Has Shaped My Journey Mental health is something many people don’t talk about until it becomes too big to ignore. For me, it wasn’t a dramatic breakdown or a single moment of crisis. It was a quiet, ongoing struggle — an invisible weight I carried through school, friendships, and daily life. My experience with mental health has shaped me in profound ways: it’s influenced the goals I’ve set for myself, deepened the relationships I’ve built, and completely changed the way I see the world. Growing up, I often felt overwhelmed by pressure — pressure to be “on,” to be strong, to hold everything together. I pushed myself academically and socially, while internally dealing with anxiety and self-doubt. I didn’t always have the language to describe what I was feeling. All I knew was that something felt off — like I was fighting an invisible current while trying to look like I was swimming just fine. Eventually, I realized I couldn’t keep pretending. Through therapy and support from people I trusted, I started learning how to manage my mental health — not by ignoring my emotions, but by facing them. I began recognizing my triggers, developing healthier coping strategies, and setting boundaries. More importantly, I started giving myself permission to be human. That shift changed everything for me. This experience has had a huge impact on my goals. I’ve always known I wanted to work with children, but my mental health journey helped me narrow that down to a more specific and passionate goal: becoming a teacher who not only supports academic growth, but also fosters emotional safety and mental wellness in the classroom. I want to be the kind of educator who notices when a student is struggling quietly, who knows how to offer compassion and understanding without judgment. I want to create an environment where children learn that asking for help isn’t a weakness — it’s a strength. That awareness comes from knowing what it feels like to be the kid who needed help and didn’t know how to ask. My experience has also reshaped how I approach relationships. It’s made me more empathetic and emotionally present — not just with others, but with myself. I’ve learned how to communicate more openly, how to listen without trying to fix everything, and how to hold space for people going through things I may not fully understand. I’ve built stronger, deeper friendships because of this — ones based on honesty and support rather than perfection and performance. I’ve also learned how to forgive, how to let go, and how to grow from conflict rather than fear it. Understanding mental health — my own and others’ — has changed how I see the world. I used to view things in black and white: strong or weak, happy or sad, successful or struggling. Now, I see the gray in everything. I’ve realized that people are often fighting battles we can’t see. The student who lashes out might be carrying trauma. The friend who’s quiet might be overwhelmed. The adult who seems “together” might be unraveling behind closed doors. This awareness has made me more compassionate and less quick to judge. It’s reminded me that kindness, even in small doses, can go a long way. I also see mental health as a lifelong journey — one that requires care, attention, and patience. It’s not something that gets “fixed” overnight. There are good days and hard days, and both are okay. I still have moments where anxiety creeps in or self-doubt shows up. But now, I have the tools to face those feelings without letting them control me. That resilience is something I carry with pride. If anything, my experience has shown me that vulnerability is powerful. It’s allowed me to connect more deeply with others, to become a better friend, a more thoughtful student, and a future teacher with a heart for those who might be silently struggling. I want to use everything I’ve learned — not just from textbooks or training, but from my personal journey — to help others feel seen and supported. In the end, mental health has not been a detour in my life. It has been the path that’s led me to greater purpose. It’s shaped my goals, strengthened my relationships, and transformed my view of the world into one filled with empathy, grace, and hope. The support of this scholarship would allow me to continue that journey by helping me access the education and training I need to become the kind of teacher who supports both the minds and hearts of her students. And for that, I am deeply grateful.

If I Could Change Anything in Education, It Would Be Equity — Not Just Equality If I could change anything in education, I would change how we define and deliver fairness. Too often, the system focuses on “equality,” where every student receives the same resources, expectations, and treatment — as if every child starts from the same place. But in reality, they don’t. Students walk into classrooms carrying different experiences, abilities, learning styles, traumas, and access to support. So if I could change anything in education, I would shift the focus from equality to equity — making sure each student gets what they individually need to succeed, even if that looks different from what others need. This change is personal to me. I’ve witnessed firsthand how the one-size-fits-all approach to education leaves many students behind — especially those with learning differences, disabilities, mental health challenges, or who come from low-income families. My younger brother, for example, didn’t speak until he was four years old and has needed educational accommodations ever since. He’s one of the smartest, kindest, and most creative people I know, but traditional classrooms weren’t designed with him in mind. Without the right support systems in place — from speech therapy to classroom modifications — he would have struggled unnecessarily, not because he couldn’t learn, but because the system wasn’t built to include him. This experience opened my eyes to the deep inequalities in our education system. It’s not just students with disabilities who are affected. Many children living in poverty go to underfunded schools, lack access to basic learning tools, and may not have a quiet space to study at home. Some students face language barriers, unstable housing, or unaddressed trauma. Others have unique gifts or talents that don’t fit the traditional mold of success, yet are overlooked because they don’t score well on standardized tests. If I could change the system, I would ensure that every student is seen as a whole person — not just a test score or a seat in a classroom. Equity in education means recognizing each child’s circumstances and designing learning environments that meet them where they are. That might mean more counselors and social workers in schools, smaller class sizes for students who need more attention, or flexible curriculums that allow for multiple ways of showing learning. It means making sure that schools in low-income neighborhoods have the same high-quality teachers, technology, and extracurricular opportunities as schools in wealthier communities. One way I would work toward this change is by advocating for Universal Design for Learning (UDL) — a teaching approach that designs curriculum to be accessible for all students from the start, rather than trying to adapt it later. UDL encourages flexibility in how students access content, how they demonstrate knowledge, and how they stay engaged. This model doesn't only benefit students with disabilities — it supports all learners. If more schools embraced UDL, we’d stop seeing accommodations as “extra” help and start seeing them as part of the foundation for learning. Another key part of creating equity is teacher training. I would change how educators are prepared by including more instruction on trauma-informed teaching, cultural competency, differentiated instruction, and the realities of systemic inequality. Teachers are often asked to meet a wide range of student needs with little support or preparation — and that’s not fair to them or to their students. If we want an equitable system, we have to equip teachers with the tools, time, and trust to be responsive to the students in front of them. If I could change anything, I would also involve families more meaningfully in the education process. Some families feel disconnected or intimidated by the system, especially if English isn’t their first language or if they’ve had negative experiences with schools in the past. Schools should build bridges — not barriers — by providing communication in multiple languages, offering flexible meeting times, and treating parents as partners. When families are engaged, students are more supported and more likely to thrive. I also believe that equity requires listening to students themselves. Too often, their voices are left out of the conversation. If I could change education, I would create more spaces for students to share how they learn best, what challenges they face, and what makes them feel safe and motivated. When students feel like their experiences matter, they become more invested in their own education. Lastly, I would shift how we define success. In many schools, success is measured by test scores, GPAs, and college acceptance letters. While those things have value, they don’t reflect the full picture of a student’s growth. What about resilience, empathy, creativity, or leadership? What about the student who overcomes social anxiety to give a class presentation, or the one who balances school while caring for younger siblings? These achievements matter too. If I could change education, I would make room for a more human, holistic definition of success — one that honors each student’s path. At its core, the change I want to see in education is about dignity. Every child deserves to walk into a classroom and feel like they matter. They deserve teachers who believe in them, systems that support them, and environments where they can shine in their own way. Changing from equality to equity isn’t easy. It means confronting hard truths about privilege, funding, and fairness. But it’s the kind of change that transforms not just schools, but lives. One day, I hope to be a teacher in a low-income community, helping students who’ve been underestimated recognize their strength. I want to be part of the movement that makes education not just accessible — but empowering. Because when we meet students where they are and give them what they need, we don’t just help them learn. We help them rise. The support of this scholarship would play a vital role in helping me reach that goal — by easing the financial burden of my education, allowing me to focus more fully on training, gaining hands-on experience, and preparing to make a meaningful impact in the lives of the students who need it most.

What makes me a “You Got It Girl” is not just my passion for the sport, but the resilience, heart, and determination I brought to every practice, game, and challenge I faced in life. I competed in cheerleading, a sport I’ve been involved in for the past three years. From the sidelines of football games, bleachers at basketball games, to the intensity of national competitions, I’ve poured my energy into perfecting routines, mastering stunts, and supporting my teammates. I’ve won awards for leadership, and helped our squad place at regional championships. But more than the trophies, it’s the lessons I’ve learned — teamwork, time management, confidence — that define my journey. Being a cheerleader means showing up even when things get hard — and that’s exactly how I approach life. One of the biggest challenges I faced was an injury during my junior year. I tore a ligament in my ankle just weeks before a major competition. It felt like everything I worked for was slipping away. But instead of giving up, I found a new way to lead. I stayed involved, coached younger teammates, and supported my squad from the sidelines. That experience taught me that being an athlete is about more than performing — it’s about showing up for others and continuing to grow even when you're benched. I came back stronger, more grateful, and more determined than ever. Someone I deeply admire is my mom. She has always been my biggest cheerleader — literally and figuratively. She worked multiple jobs while raising me, never missed a game or performance, and taught me to believe in myself even when I doubted my abilities. Her strength, humility, and constant encouragement remind me that no dream is too big when you work hard and stay grounded. I hope to be that kind of role model for others one day. This scholarship would help me continue building toward something bigger — both in sports and in life. Again, my family has always done everything they can to support me, but this scholarship would take some of the financial pressure off and allow me to focus more fully on becoming the best version of myself, both as an athlete and a student as I pursue my passion as a first generation college student. Ultimately, I plan to study early childhood education and become a teacher and down the road, a coach - primarily in low-income communities, where students need the most support and encouragement. I want to help young girls grow confident in themselves, to find their voice, and to know that they’ve “got it,” too — whether in the classroom, on the field, or in life. With the support of the YGIG scholarship, I’ll be able to continue pushing forward, growing, and giving back. Because I’m not just chasing medals — I’m chasing purpose. And I’ve got this.

Growing up, I quickly learned the value of perseverance, humility, and education. My family has always emphasized the importance of working hard and doing your best, no matter the circumstances. Their support and encouragement have shaped me into someone who is driven, responsible, and deeply motivated to succeed in college and beyond. In high school, I was involved in both sideline cheer and competitive cheer, experiences that played a huge role in shaping who I am today. Through cheer, I learned discipline, teamwork, and resilience. Whether I was on the sidelines supporting our teams or competing at high-pressure events, I developed leadership skills and mental toughness. Balancing cheer with school and other responsibilities taught me how to stay focused, stay organized, and lead by example. I also participated in my school’s band program, where I played the trumpet and served as both band manager and drum major. These roles strengthened my communication and leadership skills while reinforcing the importance of commitment and accountability. At the same time, I worked 20 to 25 hours a week to help support myself and my family when needed. Juggling work, academics, and extracurricular activities wasn’t always easy, but it taught me how to manage my time and prioritize what matters most. My experiences have helped shape my career goal of becoming an early elementary educator. I believe all children deserve a positive, supportive learning environment, and I want to be a teacher who helps them feel seen, heard, and valued. I’ve had amazing role models throughout my own education, and I want to pass that same encouragement and belief on to the next generation. However, the financial cost of college remains a real challenge. Despite my part-time job, financial aid, and careful budgeting, covering tuition, textbooks, and other living expenses is a constant concern. Receiving this scholarship would make a tremendous difference—it would ease the financial burden, as I will be moving out of state and having to look for new employment, it will allow me more time to focus on my studies, classroom experience, and personal growth. This scholarship isn’t just about financial support—it’s about opportunity and belief. It represents a step forward toward the future I’ve worked hard to build. With your support, I will continue on my path toward becoming a compassionate, dedicated teacher and a role model for students who may need someone to believe in them. I know the journey won’t always be easy, but I am ready to meet the challenges ahead with determination, heart, and gratitude. Thank you for your consideration.

Rooted in Resilience, Guided by Purpose My name is Kelsey, and I’m a proud first-generation college student majoring in Early Childhood Education. My journey is shaped by my family’s sacrifices, my cultural identity, and my deep passion for helping others—especially children who come from backgrounds like mine. I grew up in a Filipino American household, where respect, faith, and hard work were the foundation of everything we did. These values guide me as I work toward becoming the first in my family to graduate from college and build a life of service and impact. My grandmother immigrated to the United States from the Philippines in 1989 in search of better opportunities for our family. She arrived with courage and determination but very little else. Watching her work long hours and give so much of herself to help build a new future left a deep impression on me. Her strength and quiet resilience are a large part of why I chose to pursue a college education. I want to honor the path she paved by building a meaningful career that lifts others—especially children from underserved communities who deserve care, stability, and support in their most formative years. Growing up, we didn’t have much, but we had each other. My family is close-knit and supportive, but financial struggles and cultural adjustments weren’t easy. As a child, I often translated documents, helped my relatives navigate school systems, and juggled responsibilities beyond my years. These experiences shaped me into someone who is dependable, empathetic, and service-minded. I saw how a lack of resources could limit potential—and I knew early on that I wanted to become a teacher to change that. I’ve chosen to major in Early Childhood Education because I believe the most powerful way to create lasting change is to start young. I want to teach in low-income, minority communities where students may not always feel seen or supported. My goal is to build classrooms that celebrate diversity, foster emotional growth, and provide a strong foundation for lifelong success. I want my students to feel safe, confident, and empowered—just like I wished for myself at their age. Outside of academics, I’ve always been involved in activities that reflect my desire to lead and serve. I was a drum major and trumpet player in band, served as student government executive board member, cheerleader, and SWAT club treasurer. I also teach Sunday School and participate in book club. Each role has taught me discipline, teamwork, and the importance of showing up for others. When I have free time, I enjoy journaling, reading, and volunteering—it helps me stay grounded in my goals and community. Being Southeast Asian in America hasn’t always been easy. I’ve faced stereotypes, underrepresentation, and moments of feeling like I didn’t quite belong. But instead of holding me back, these experiences have pushed me forward. They’ve fueled my commitment to becoming the kind of role model I never had—a teacher who reflects her students’ identities and helps them realize that their background is a strength, not a setback. My journey is far from over, but everything I’ve overcome and embraced has led me to this point. With continued support and education, I hope to turn every challenge I’ve faced into fuel for change—in my life and in the lives of the children I will one day teach.

Leading with Heart: Living a Life of Selflessness and Service To me, selflessness means putting others before myself—not for recognition, but because I truly believe in lifting others up whenever I can. Whether it’s through a simple act of kindness or a long-term commitment to community service, I’ve always found purpose in helping people. Selflessness is not about grand gestures—it’s about consistency, compassion, and standing up for what you believe in, even when it’s not easy. One of the most meaningful examples of selflessness in my life has been my experience volunteering as a Sunday School teacher at my church. Every week, I dedicate time to planning lessons, leading activities, and guiding young children in their spiritual and personal growth. It’s not always easy, especially when balancing school and other responsibilities, but I do it because I believe every child deserves to feel supported and loved. Watching my students grow more confident and connected makes every early morning and long afternoon worth it. In high school, I was a member of the Student Government Executive Board and also served as the treasurer of SWAT (Students Working Against Tobacco). These roles were about more than just titles—they were platforms to advocate for my peers and stand up for healthier, safer environments. I helped organize educational events, raise awareness about addiction, and speak up when others stayed silent. It wasn't always popular or easy to push for uncomfortable conversations, but I stayed true to my beliefs because I cared about my community's well-being. Another example of altruism came when a classmate I barely knew was going through a rough time and struggling in school. I offered to study with them, explain assignments, and check in regularly. I wasn’t asked to help, and I didn’t expect anything in return—but I knew what it felt like to be overwhelmed and unsure, and I wanted to make sure they didn’t feel alone. That experience reminded me that small acts of kindness can have a big impact. One of my greatest passions is education, particularly early childhood education, and I’ve remained committed to this path even when facing challenges as a first-generation college student. I’ve had to learn to navigate college applications, financial aid, and academic pressures without a family roadmap. There were moments I doubted myself or felt like giving up, but my desire to become a teacher and make a difference in the lives of young children kept me going. Persevering through those moments is a reflection of my belief that education is one of the most powerful tools we can offer others. Selflessness, to me, is woven into every part of who I am—from my desire to teach, to my role as a mentor, to the way I try to lead by example in everyday life. I don’t seek credit or recognition; I simply want to help others the way I’ve been helped, and create a life that reflects my values of empathy, resilience, and service. With continued education and support, I will continue to grow into a leader who serves not just in word, but in action—someone who uplifts others with both heart and purpose.

Rooted in Resilience, Growing Through Education As a first-generation college student raised in a Filipino American household, I carry with me a deep sense of pride and purpose. My educational journey is not just about personal achievement—it is about honoring my roots, my family’s sacrifices, and the legacy of strength that brought me here. In 1989, my grandmother immigrated from the Philippines with the hope of creating a better life for her children and future grandchildren. Her courage and determination laid the foundation for my family’s life in America. She taught us the value of sipag at tiyaga—hard work and perseverance—values that still guide me today as I work toward a degree in Early Childhood Education. Growing up in a Filipino American household, I was surrounded by the warmth of community, the richness of tradition, and the unwavering belief that education is the key to a better future. Our home was filled with stories of sacrifice, family gatherings with shared meals and laughter, and the constant reminder that success means giving back to others. These values inspired me to become an educator—someone who nurtures, uplifts, and empowers the next generation. I believe that meaningful change begins in the classroom. I want to be an early childhood educator who helps children, especially those from immigrant and underserved communities, believe in their potential. As someone who once struggled to navigate school without guidance, I want to be a supportive figure who sees each child’s unique background as a strength. I also hope to bring more cultural representation into early education—so that children grow up seeing themselves reflected in their teachers and lessons. Being a first-generation student means facing challenges that many others don’t see. My family works incredibly hard, but the cost of higher education is a heavy burden. This scholarship would help ease that financial stress, allowing me to focus on my coursework and take part in opportunities like internships, tutoring programs, and community service. More importantly, it would allow my family to breathe a little easier, knowing that their sacrifices are being met with support. Receiving this scholarship would not only help me reach my goal of becoming a teacher—it would represent an investment in the community I come from. I want to give back by shaping classrooms that are inclusive, diverse, and grounded in empathy. I want to honor the resilience of my grandmother, the love of my family, and the strength of the Filipino American community by dedicating my life to helping children thrive. With your support, I will continue this journey—not just for myself, but for every child I’ll one day teach, and every family like mine who believes in the power of education

Choosing Myself: A Journey Toward Mental and Emotional Wellness During my junior year of high school, I hit a breaking point. Balancing school, extracurriculars, part-time work, volunteering at church and personal expectations had become overwhelming. On the outside, I seemed to be managing fine—I kept my grades up, showed up to meetings, and smiled through most of it. But internally, I was exhausted, anxious, and constantly on edge. I was losing interest in things I used to enjoy and isolating myself without even realizing it. That’s when I knew I couldn’t keep pushing through on my own. The turning point came after a particularly difficult week when I broke down in front of my mom over something that would seem so small. I told her I was struggling more than I had let on and needed help. It was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, but also one of the most important. She was incredibly supportive and encouraged me to talk to a professional. Soon after, I began seeing a psychologist. At first, I wasn’t sure what to expect. I worried about what it meant to need therapy—did it mean I was weak or failing in some way? But those fears soon began to fade. My psychologist helped me understand that what I was feeling was valid, and that seeking support was actually a sign of strength. Through weekly sessions, I learned how to recognize patterns in my thinking, manage stress more effectively, and practice self-compassion. I began journaling regularly, setting boundaries with my time, and even learning to say no when I needed to. That experience completely shifted my perspective. I realized that prioritizing my mental and emotional health didn’t mean I was falling behind or failing — it simply meant I was taking control. By making space for my own needs, I became more grounded, focused, and resilient. My relationships improved, I started sleeping better, and I actually began to enjoy school again. Most importantly, I felt like myself for the first time in months. Seeing a psychologist taught me that mental health is just as important as physical health, and that it deserves time and care. This experience has had a lasting impact on how I approach life. As I prepare for college and the future, I’m bringing these lessons with me. I’ve built habits around reflection, self-awareness, and asking for help when I need it. I no longer view burnout as a badge of honor; I see balance and emotional well-being as essential to long-term success. I’ve also become more empathetic toward others who may be silently struggling. I now speak openly about my journey when appropriate, because I want to help break the stigma around mental health. If even one person feels less alone because I shared my story, it’s worth it. Making my mental health a priority didn’t just help me survive a hard year—it gave me tools that will serve me for the rest of my life. It taught me that strength looks different than I once thought, and that the best way to show up for my future is by first showing up for myself.

Educating for Change: How My Education Will Help Me Impact the Next Generation As someone who has faced challenges growing up—from balancing academics with cheerleading, to helping support my family financially—I’ve come to understand how powerful education can be. It gave me structure, opportunity, and a glimpse of a life beyond hardship. Now, as I pursue a degree in Early Elementary Education, I see my future not only as a personal success story, but as a chance to give back and create positive change in the lives of children and the communities I serve. Education is not just about academics; it is about planting seeds of confidence, resilience, and hope in young minds. I want to be the kind of teacher who does more than teach the alphabet or numbers. I want to help shape children’s futures by creating a classroom where they feel seen, heard, and valued—regardless of where they come from or what challenges they bring with them. My further education will prepare me not only with the tools of teaching—lesson planning, classroom management, and curriculum development—but also with the social and emotional intelligence to truly connect with my students. As I continue my studies, I will learn how to recognize different learning styles, adapt to individual needs, and promote inclusion and equity in every lesson I deliver. One of my biggest goals is to work in underserved communities, where children may not have access to consistent support at home or high-quality educational resources. These children deserve teachers who not only believe in their potential, but who are equipped to bring out the best in them. With a degree in Early Elementary Education, I will be able to offer that. I want to create safe spaces where learning is exciting, where curiosity is encouraged, and where students are empowered to dream beyond their circumstances. I also see education as a tool for breaking cycles—cycles of poverty, low self-esteem, and limited opportunity. When we invest in children early, we don’t just improve academic outcomes; we influence the direction of entire communities. I want to be part of that ripple effect—one student, one classroom, one school year at a time. This educational journey will also give me opportunities to collaborate with other passionate educators, learn from mentors, and get hands-on experience through student teaching and community engagement. I anticipate using everything I learn to develop not only as a teacher, but as a community leader and advocate for educational equity. In the end, my goal is simple but powerful: to change lives through learning. I want to be the reason a child loves coming to school. I want to be the voice that tells them they are smart, capable, and full of potential. Furthering my education is how I will gain the knowledge, confidence, and skills to fulfill that mission—and to make a real difference in the world around me.

Turning Adversity into Purpose: My Path to Early Elementary Education Adversity has a way of testing your limits and teaching you what you’re truly capable of. For me, it came in the form of balancing the demands of school, competitive cheerleading, and a difficult home environment shaped by financial hardship and family responsibility. While others my age focused solely on academics or extracurriculars, I was juggling homework with babysitting younger siblings, working part-time to help with household expenses, and staying committed to my team. Every day was a test of perseverance—and every day, I chose not to give up. There were times when it felt overwhelming. I would go from school to practice, then home to cook dinner, help with homework, and finish my own studies late at night. Despite being exhausted, I kept showing up. That commitment taught me more than any textbook ever could. I learned how to manage time, how to work through stress, and how to push through even when the odds weren’t in my favor. Out of those challenges came clarity about my future. I want to become an early elementary educator—not just to teach children how to read, write, and count, but to help shape who they believe they can become. I’ve seen firsthand how much of an impact a stable, supportive presence can make in a child’s life, especially during those early, formative years. I want to be that steady presence—the teacher who sees every child, believes in them, and helps them discover their strengths. My long-term goal is to earn a degree in Early Childhood or Elementary Education and become a certified teacher for grades K-3. I plan to work in under-resourced communities, where passionate, patient educators are needed most. I don’t want to just teach—I want to advocate for my students and help create classrooms where every child feels safe, valued, and excited to learn. This scholarship would make a tremendous difference in helping me reach that goal. Financial obstacles have always been a challenge, and receiving this support would reduce the burden of tuition, books, and living expenses. It would allow me to focus more fully on my coursework, field experiences, and student teaching. More than that, it would represent something deeply meaningful: that someone believes in my dream and is willing to invest in my future. I’ve turned adversity into motivation, and I’m committed to using my experiences to create change through education. Becoming a teacher isn’t just a career for me—it’s my calling. I want to shape not just young minds, but young hearts. I want to help children build confidence early, so they grow up knowing they can thrive—no matter what challenges they face. This scholarship would be more than financial support; it would be a step toward a lifelong mission to uplift, educate, and inspire. And I am ready to take that step forward.

Balancing Spirit and Strength: How Cheerleading Shaped Me in a Male-Dominated World I’m not just surviving in a male-dominated world—I’m thriving. Being a cheerleader means more than wearing a uniform and learning routines. It means showing up, staying resilient, and performing under pressure. Add to that the demands of school, responsibilities at home, and the ever-present pressure to prove myself as a young woman in a male-dominated world, and it becomes clear: cheerleading has shaped me into someone far stronger than I ever imagined. When I first joined cheerleading, I didn’t fully realize how much it would demand of me. Long hours of practice, pushing through physical pain, and working closely with a team taught me more than stunts and chants—they taught me discipline, trust, and how to lead under pressure. But it wasn’t just about what happened on the field or in the gym. It was the balancing act between athletics, academics, and life that tested—and strengthened—my character. There were days when I’d go from a full day of school to practice, then stay up late to finish homework or study for a test. There were weekends when my friends went out and I stayed in icing injuries or mentally rehearsing routines. Managing my time and emotions became essential. I had to learn how to say no, how to ask for help, and how to prioritize what truly mattered. And through it all, I realized something powerful: I was growing stronger, not just as a cheerleader, but as a young woman navigating a world that doesn’t always make space for strong girls. Cheerleading is often misunderstood. Because it’s predominantly female, it’s frequently dismissed as “not a real sport.” I’ve heard it all—“You’re just shaking pom-poms,” or “It’s not athletic.” But the truth is, cheerleading is physically and mentally demanding. It requires intense conditioning, coordination, and trust. When you’re tossing someone in the air or holding a stunt for the fifth time in a row, you don’t have time to worry about stereotypes. You’re focused, determined, and pushing past your limits. And yet, society still places more value on sports dominated by men. That’s when I started to see how deeply rooted gender expectations are. Cheerleading taught me how to confront those assumptions head-on. When I advocated for recognition, fought to defend my sport, and demanded to be taken seriously, I wasn’t just speaking up for cheer—I was speaking up for every girl who’s ever been underestimated. I found my voice, and I learned how to use it—not just with volume, but with purpose and confidence. In the classroom, I became more assertive, more organized, and more willing to take on leadership roles. I stopped shrinking myself to fit into anyone else’s expectations. I realized that strength doesn’t always come from dominating others—it comes from knowing yourself, from showing up fully even when it’s hard, and from lifting others up along the way. That’s what cheer taught me. That’s what balancing everything taught me. In a world where women are often told to stay quiet, to be small, to be “just enough,” I’ve chosen to be more. More vocal, more powerful, more grounded. Cheerleading helped me grow into a strong female voice in spaces that often try to drown us out. It gave me the courage to stand tall, the stamina to keep going, and the heart to lead. And I owe a lot of that strength to the lessons learned through the rhythm of cheers, the chaos of balancing school and life, and the quiet determination it takes to rise above every challenge.